The Great Wei dynasty had stood for little more than twenty years.
The late Emperor had once been the Northern Marquis of the previous regime, stationed at the frontier. His only shuang’er child and a son had been kept in the capital as hostages.
When the Mengnu tribes swept south, the Northern Marquis led his troops to resist. The decadent emperor, however, fled with most of his officials to the secondary capital in Nanjing. Surrounded and isolated, the Marquis might have perished—had not the present Grand Elder Prince, then only fifteen-year-old Zhu Xuan, ridden a thousand li from the capital with reinforcements to break the siege.
For three years the Mengnu ravaged the north. The Marquis pursued and harried them relentlessly until they were driven back to the grasslands, leaving the northern lands devastated and scarred.
After repelling the invaders, the Marquis publicly denounced the fleeing emperor for abandoning the people. Ignoring the censure of the realm, he proclaimed himself emperor in Beijing and founded the Great Wei.
In the first year of Hongwu, he announced a special imperial examination. Northerners responded eagerly; due to the lingering authority of the Nanjing court, not a single southerner participated.
That year’s palace examination selected only thirty-five jinshi—one third of whom would later form the backbone of what became known as the Kong faction.
By the third year of Hongwu, Dong Xi led southern aristocratic families and certain officials to seize the former emperor and deliver him to Beijing.
The rivalry between Kong and Dong during the Hongwu era was, at heart, a contest between north and south. Only later did it intensify and mutate into something far more complex.
For now, none of this directly concerned Lin Fangxu.
What did concern him was the sobering realization—once he began studying model examination essays—that a decade without writing could dull even the sharpest blade.
Three months passed in a blink. By the Mid-Autumn recess, even Lin Fangming had submitted an essay for the master’s correction, yet Fangxu had not written a single one. Fortunately, Master Xu did not press him, and the others held their tongues.
For Mid-Autumn, the master invited friends to admire the moon and granted five days’ leave.
The Lin brothers returned to Lin Family Village.
The village bustled with festivity. Every household made mooncakes. Lin Fangxu’s mother’s mooncakes were famed throughout the village—especially her osmanthus crystal mooncakes, of which she sent portions each year to several close families.
Fangxu carried a box of osmanthus mooncakes to Great-Granduncle’s house. Great-Uncle and the elder patriarch were in the study; the eldest cousin had not yet returned home.
Lin Fangqi greeted him at the door. No sooner had they stepped inside than they heard Pandi crying.
The eldest cousin’s daughters were nicknamed Zhaodi and Pandi; his son was called Bao-ge’er.
Pandi was still sniffling softly. Lin Fangqi, with a sigh, took a mooncake from Fangxu’s box and handed it to her.
“Your little aunt is your elder. If she likes the hair ornament, just let her have it.”
The girl stopped crying when she received the mooncake, but upon hearing this she began to sob again.
“But Grandmother gave it to me. Why can’t I choose first? Grandma and Mother both told me to yield to her. She’s older than me—why doesn’t she yield to me?”
“What nonsense!” her mother snapped, emerging from the kitchen. “Your aunt is your elder. You should show respect. If you disgrace me again, you won’t eat dinner.”
At that moment Lin Fangxin stormed out, face flushed with anger. She flung the floral hairpin into Pandi’s arms.
“Spare me the pretense, Sister-in-law. I have no need of a Liu family hair ornament.”
The sister-in-law’s face turned ashen.
Lin Fangxu quietly set down the mooncakes and made his escape. Fangqi followed on the pretext of seeing him out. Once they were safely beyond the battlefield, both exhaled in relief and exchanged awkward smiles.
“One day I’ll marry a gentle wife,” Fangqi declared earnestly. “Better yet, a shuang’er. Women are far too noisy.”
Fangxu snorted. “As if you can choose. You’ll marry whoever is arranged for you.”
In his previous life Fangqi had indeed married a capable and sensible shuang’er—but that did not prevent Fangxu from teasing him now.
Fangqi lingered at Fangxu’s house until near supper before returning home alone. Whether peace had been restored at Great-Uncle’s house remained unknown.
That evening, discord flared in their own household. Second Brother announced he would return to the county town the next day; Second Sister-in-law burst into tears and quarreled bitterly with him.
So much for tranquility.
With Elder Brother busy scolding and Brother-in-law mediating, Fangxu took Mu-mu and Ermu to the river to set floating lanterns.
The next morning Second Brother slipped away at dawn regardless. Second Sister-in-law, eyes red, skipped breakfast. Fangxu and Fangqi spent the remaining days leading the children—one day catching fish in the stream, the next climbing trees to chase birds—until the holiday ended.
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After Mid-Autumn, Lin Fangxu finally lifted his brush and began his first eight-legged essay since his rebirth, using the metropolitan examination of the first year of Jianwen as his topic.
Having lived another lifetime, he had studied the questions of subsequent metropolitan and palace examinations—and even remembered those of the Suzhou provincial exam. He could not help wondering whether that bordered on cheating.
Alas, there was no advantage to be had in the preliminary county examination; compared to higher examinations, it scarcely counted. Even passing did not yet admit one fully into the ranks of the scholarly elite.
Still, as someone who had once attained the jinshi degree, Fangxu worried that writing too brilliantly might arouse suspicion. He deliberately restrained himself.
He had both underestimated his teacher’s resilience and overestimated his own restraint.
Staring at the heavily annotated paper in his hands, red ink covering every margin, he sighed to the sky.
“Ah… better not hold back. I’ll give it my all.”
Thus began a cycle: writing, being corrected; writing again, being corrected again. At times he even wondered whether he had truly lived another life.
What he did not know was that Master Xu copied each of his essays and circulated them quietly among acquaintances, determined that all should know a prodigious student would soon enter the examination hall.
Though Master Xu no longer served in officialdom, his reputation remained formidable. The Suzhou Xu family was no minor house. Combined with the lingering prestige of Lin Fangxu’s
ancestor, the Censor Lin, attention gathered around Fangxu before he had even entered the arena. The stage was set; now it depended on performance.
Unaware of this, Fangxu found himself at the end of the eleventh month. Year-end holidays approached—and Second Sister-in-law’s confinement neared.
On the day before the academy closed for the New Year, Master Xu assembled all candidates once more.
“You will enter the examination in early second month,” he said gravely. “Do not slacken over the New Year. I have anticipated several possible topics—attempt to outline them at home. In literature there is no fixed first; merit depends upon the reader. Appealing to preference matters. Our county magistrate and the prefect of Jinhua are both practical men—but their inclinations differ. Prefect Su earned his jinshi past forty, cautious and moderate by nature. Magistrate Li is newly past forty and more assertive. Discern the distinction yourselves.”
He dismissed them without further private instruction—even for Fangxu, whom he favored. There was nothing more to say, and he did not wish to burden the boy before his first attempt.
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When Fangxu returned home, little Sanmu sat on a low stool clutching a cloth tiger. Zhao Shiyue bustled about, packing hurriedly.
It was precisely as in his previous life.
In a moment, Brother-in-law would turn and say: “Xu-ge’er, Uncle Chengfu sent word—Second Sister-in-law is in labor. Go fetch your Second Brother. I’ll harness the cart and we’ll return at
once.”
This time, however, Fangxu did not waste effort searching at Honghu Tower as before. He went straight to the pavilion by Qixia Lake, found Second Brother there, explained the matter, and brought him home.
The donkey cart was already harnessed.
“Second Brother, come with me at once,” Zhao Shiyue said. “Third Brother, help me watch Sanmu until your elder brother returns.”
Elder Brother would not be free for several more days due to year-end accounting. Fangxu decided, as in his previous life, to take Sanmu home the next day.
Sanmu, barely over two, was even more obedient than Ermu. He followed his uncle without fuss.
By the time they arrived, mother and child were safe. Second Sister-in-law’s mother had also come. Fangxu, being a young man, could not enter the birthing chamber. Mu-mu had likely taken Ermu out to play; Second Brother was nowhere in sight. Fangxu carried Sanmu to the kitchen.
“Why are you back? I told you to come with your elder brother,” Zhao Shiyue frowned.
“I thought I’d return early in case help was needed,” Fangxu replied lightly. (He could hardly say he had come to see whether his sister-in-law had “changed souls.”)
“It was a difficult labor, but mother and child are safe. A boy—though rather thin. Your sister-in-law nearly walked through the gates of death, it seems. Even her tastes have changed. She refuses soft-centered fried eggs, muttering about bacteria. I’ll cook them thoroughly. I’m busy—watch Sanmu for me.”
Zhao Shiyue spoke more candidly than usual, perhaps because irritation lingered in his heart.
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Fate is a mysterious thing.
If one tries deliberately to avoid certain people or events after glimpsing one possible future, might the outcome become worse than before?
Or perhaps what one has seen is not truth at all, but only a tale woven by one’s own mind?
What must come will come.
When all settled at last, Fangxu felt unexpectedly calm.
Some say the unknown drives a person forward, while knowledge breeds hesitation. Fangxu thought otherwise. Knowledge at least tells you which road leads nowhere.
“Sanmu,” he said, lifting the boy, “if one path fails, we take another—and press forward just the same. Come. Let’s find your brothers.”
Sanmu had no opinion on life’s roads, but the prospect of play delighted him. Waving his chubby hands, he chirped, “Find Dodo! Find Dodo!”
